


Strawberry-Rhubarb American Pie

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: You Found Me [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Fluff, Love, M/M, Pie, Silly, Strawberry-Rhubarb pie, because why not, my first harry potter fanfic, there's pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just a pie. But Harry doesn't want to share with Draco.  There's whipped cream and a hint of smut, but mostly, teeth rotting fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry-Rhubarb American Pie

**Author's Note:**

> My potter soulmate [GeronimoAndBeMAGnificent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geronimoandbemagnificent) made sure my voice was on. My amazing friend [221Btls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/221Btls) made sure I made sense. You all are irreplaceable. xoxo
> 
> TYSM for letting me know Tesco's doesn't give away pie servers. What a shame! Pretend they do, tho!

“Hey there, handsome--”

Draco stepped out of the kitchen fireplace, brushing tiny flecks of soot from his work robe.

Harry didn't look up as the whoooosh filled the kitchen. He sat at the table, focused on the untouched pie in front of him.

“Thank Merlin for Molly Weasley's baking.” Draco licked his lips as he imagined how amazing this pie would taste, especially with whipped cream on it. His stomach rumbled in agreement, and he laughed without embarrassment at the noise; that's what he got for skipping lunch at work. At the time, it seemed like a good idea to spend the extra hour polishing his jokes for the next day’s radio show. Now, it just seemed ridiculously giving of him.

“No need for you to get up, Potter. I'll get my own tea.” Draco needled Harry as he threw a tea bag into his mug and poured steaming water from the kettle.

“Yeah, ok.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry’s distracted answer, but launched into his daily routine: telling Harry in comical detail about his day at WBBC, the wizarding media conglomerate.

“So when I finally decided I had to eat, I made it all the way to the office’s apparition point, when She Who Must Not Be Named called me into her office. She said my pro-immigration jokes were too snarky. Me? Too snarky? I was offended!

“And seriously. Whose idea was it to promote Pansy to _News Quiz_ producer? Thank God I didn’t have to sleep with her to get this job!” Draco’s melodramatic shiver didn’t even grab Harry’s attention.

“Uh huh.”

“So, since Sandi Toksvig is retiring from both _News Quizzes_ , WBBC offered the hosting job to Luna Lovegood.” _Maybe an outrageous lie would rattle Harry,_ Draco thought.

“Uh-huh.”

“Potter! What is so fucking engrossing about this pie?” Draco set a plate in front of Harry a little harder and louder than he'd intended. He relaxed his pursed lips and uncrinkled his forehead. He was _not_ going to get wrinkles over this.

He grabbed the knife, but before it pierced the gooey filling that had bubbled through the crust, Harry shouted, “Don’t. It’s--¬mine.”

“What has gotten into you?” The knife clattered onto the table as Draco dropped into a chair next to Harry. “When you asked me to move in, we agreed to split everything. I didn’t know that precluded pies. May I drink this tea, or is it yours, too?” His stomach was in knots, and he knew it was stupid. But, he thought they were better than this.

Harry hung his head, unable to look at Draco. “Look. It’s just--it's a Strawberry-Rhubarb pie.” He looked up, offering a half-smile as part of his explanation. “And whipped cream,” he finished half-heartedly, gesturing to the Reddi-Wip can.

“I know that sounds like a reason to you, Potter--” Draco held his breath and forced himself to remember that he didn't hate Harry. Releasing the breath in a long, slow stream, he said, “I’m going to change out of my work clothes. Give you and the pie time to be alone.”

Draco stalked out of the kitchen shaking his head, muttering something about “ _the fucking pie_ ,” then “ _fucking pie_ ,” then “ _American Pie_ ” the movie where the kid actually fucks the pie. By the time he hit the stairs, he was laughing out loud. His father would be rolling in his grave (“ _We could only wish he were dead”_ ) at how much influence Muggle media held over him because of his job.

Draco took his time changing out of his work clothes; any minute, Harry would call him back to the kitchen and apologize. Harry was terrible at holding a grudge. Draco smiled; when they were sworn enemies at 11, it never occurred to him that he’d think that was a good thing.

He took his time hanging up his trousers. Placing the shirt into the laundry basket. Removing his hand-stitched derby shoes and tucking them under the bed before peeling off his socks.

He pulled on his favorite jeans, the pair with wear patterns in the best places, and a Doctor Who/Sherlock crossover t-shirt. Somehow, both shows had gone from WBBC to Muggle BBC. Didn’t the Muggles wonder how the TARDIS moved through time and space? How Sherlock deduced the criminals, except through skilled Legilimens? Muggles. He shook his head at how friggin’ gullible Muggles were.

Draco tucked the shirt into his jeans. _Not bad_ , he thought, looking at his backside in the full length mirror. Still wearing clothes from Hogwarts. _Wait. Was that a--a love handle starting¬¬—there! Right there. Above the left hip._

He strained his neck, frantic to see both hips at once from behind.

_Forget the pie. Salad_. What he needed was more salad. _More exercise. Oh! More sex! Sex is exerc--_

“Draco?” Harry’s voice carried up the stairs. “Your tea is ready.”

The tension drained from Draco’s neck and shoulders. Whatever was going on with Harry, he was ready to talk.

Harry knew the moment Draco entered the kitchen; he calmed at the scent of Draco’s cinnamon-citrus shampoo and soap.

_“You smell delicious,” Harry mentioned the first time Draco spent the night. “Like cinnamon toast and orange juice.” “Philistine,” Draco snorted with derision. “I’ll have you know this is available in only one shop in a small town in the south of France. It’s very exclusive.” Harry bit back a smile. “Do they also serve breakfast?” he asked, before he flicked his tongue behind Draco’s ear. The rest of the memory was a bit fuzzy._

“Sorry I over-reacted.” Harry brought the tea to the table and sat next to Draco. “It’s just, y’know. It’s a Strawberry-Rhubarb pie.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he took the tea bag from the mug. He searched for something to lay the sopping bag on, settling for a folded napkin. “You say that as if it explains everything. It really doesn’t.”

Harry sighed and nodded, staring at the table, finding the words to explain. Draco read the slumped shoulders, the sad eyes. Nothing good was going to come of this stupid pie.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Harry. I’ll still love you, pie or no pie.” Draco tilted his head to catch Harry’s eyes. His slid his hand over Harry’s and said, “I just wondered why.”

Harry scraped the chair away from the table and searched the drawer for forks. “This is going to sound stupid, but-- ”

“Potter. We’ve known each other more than half our lives. Obviously it’s going to sound stupid.” Draco reached for Harry’s hand, but Harry dodged him. “Ok. Enough. Whatever’s going on, this isn’t about a pie, even if it’s a Weasley pie.”

“It’s not Molly’s. I got it from the Tesco’s on the way home.” Harry stared at the forks in his hand with a long slow sigh.

“Oh, God. Pastry from Tesco’s? Why?” Draco mimed gagging.

Harry set the forks on the table. “It’s such a nice day, and the sun felt really good after all the rain this week, so I walked home.” He grabbed the cheap plastic pie server from the grocery sack and reached for the pie.

“Oh my God, Harry,” Draco shouted, knocking his chair over as he pushed away from the table. “Why do you have a Bad Boy Spanker?” He pointed at Harry, his heart pounding.

Harry looked around for whatever scared Draco. Pie. Forks. Plates. Pie server.

“That! The thing in your hand. The--¬the Bad Boy Spanker! Why do you have one?” Draco moved, putting a high-backed chair between him and Harry.

Harry’s voice softened with worry. “Draco, c’mon love. Sit down.” Harry dropped the pie server on the table and righted Draco’s chair.

Draco sat away from Harry, eyeing the Bad Boy Spanker. “Why do you have one of those?” He pointed at the cheap plastic spatula.

“This?” Harry held up the pie server that the bakery girl had thrown into the sack for free. “This is a spanker?” His lip trembled; he bit it so he wouldn’t--couldn’t--. Laughter spilled from him. “Merlin’s balls, Draco. It’s a-- it serves--” Harry couldn’t speak through his laughter.

Draco sat rigid until Harry caught his breath. “We never served pie. I mean, we had pie¬--but the house elves¬--“ He waved his hand to finish the sentence. “The nanny found it one day in the kitchen and said it was the perfect size to--”

Harry stroked the back of Draco’s hand with his thumb, hoping to soothe his nerves.

“--to paddle my bottom when I was naughty. She would even shrink it and bring it in her pocket if we went out. It’s a torture device!” Draco’s voice rose with indignation, knowing Harry wasn’t taking him seriously. “It’s not funny, Harry. It was--¬scary.” Draco’s voice trailed off. “I was little--”

Harry’s laugh escaped, but he clapped his hand over his mouth. Draco stared Harry down until he was also laughing.

“Because you shared such a deep secret,” Harry stuttered out through the last of his laughs. Draco raised an eyebrow, warning Harry not to mock him.

“I’ll share one with you,” Harry said with a deep breath. “I never talk about growing up with my Muggle relatives.”

Draco sat back in his chair and nodded.

Harry flipped the pie turner over with two fingers. Again. And again. “All the stories you’ve read are true. They made me sleep in a cupboard. They wouldn’t feed me much, and if I didn’t behave, they wouldn’t feed me at all.”

Draco sipped his tea, already turned cold, just to have something to do. If he looked at Harry, he’d grab him into a hug and never let go.

“My uncle looked forward to June every year, because Tesco’s had Strawberry-Rhubarb pie. Said it reminded him of summer hols when he was a lad. He’d buy one and cut it into 8 pieces the exact same size.”

Draco snorted, but Harry said, “I’m not exaggerating. He would measure them.”

“Under penalty of death we all knew not to touch it. He’d sit at the table and eat it one piece at a time until the pie was gone. It was ¬almost holy¬ watching him eat with so much reverence and pleasure.

“I just wanted to taste it so one night I crept out of the cupboard, opened the refrigerator, and pinched a bit off the center of a piece. The strawberries looks so red and the crust was so flaky. But before I could even get it into my mouth, the kitchen exploded behind me. My uncle grabbed me by the neck and pulled me out of the refrigerator.”

Draco gasped, reaching for Harry’s hands.

Harry nodded, squeezing Draco’s hand. “They locked me in my cupboard for a week.” Harry wouldn’t look at Draco. Instead, he picked up the knife to cut into the pie.

Draco knew better than to cry for Harry or offer sympathy that might be mistaken for pity. “For the love of Merlin, Potter. You could have at least tried for something worthwhile, like a sandwich.” Draco side-eyed the pie. The gelatinous blob that had bubbled up from the center didn’t look delicious; it looked--¬red. Like, cherry on top of a sundae red. Not-actually-occurring-in-nature red.

He stopped Harry, who’d slid the point of the knife into the pie crust. “Are you sure, Harry? This could be one of those times when the idea of the pie is better than the actual taste.”

Harry considered what Draco said. The pie was all wrapped up in his childhood dreams and expectations. What he _thought_ he’d wanted. What wonderful would taste like.

“I think you’re probably right.” Harry’s smile this time was genuine, reaching up to crinkle his eyes. “But I’m going to eat it anyway.”

He cut two generous triangles, and when he withdrew the knife, Harry slid his finger along the side, wiping it clean. He popped his finger in his mouth, smiling as he tasted the strawberry-rhubarb filling.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard, that’s that’s--” Harry coughed as he tried to swallow.

Draco bit his lips to keep himself from saying anything, but when Harry grabbed a napkin and wiped the pie filling from his tongue, he couldn’t hold out any longer. Draco laughed long and loud, doubled over with his head on his knees.

Draco couldn’t eke any words out between his gasping breaths. "Is it horrible?"

"So. So. So. Fucking horrible." Harry took a deep drink of his tea to rinse the awful taste out of his mouth.

"Well, you should have known, Potter." Draco’s voice rang with the unspoken _I told you so_. "Anyone stupid enough not to appreciate you can't have good taste." He smirked, daring Harry to contradict him.

Harry didn’t contradict him. He pushed away from the table and pulled Draco into a tight hug. “I’d share anything with you,” Harry said, his words open and honest.

Draco kissed him. Once. Twice. Breathless. “Come with me,” Draco said, motioning his head toward the stairs. "Leave the pie, but bring the can of whipped cream. And y’know,” Draco waggled his eyebrows. “Bring the pie server. It’s not so scary now that I think about it, and I have been a bit of a Bad Boy lately.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first hp attempt. I hope you liked it! more coming.


End file.
